


london boy

by 1000_directions



Category: Hawkeye (Comics), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers - Ambiguous Fandom
Genre: Coffee, Established Relationship, Kissing, Kitchen Sex, M/M, Trans Clint Barton, Trans Male Character
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-21
Updated: 2019-10-21
Packaged: 2020-12-27 22:35:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,289
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21126356
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/1000_directions/pseuds/1000_directions
Summary: “Kiss me first, then coffee,” Bucky says, opening his arms just in time for Clint to fall into them.“Missed you,” Clint murmurs, ducking his head to brush his lips over Bucky’s. Clint hasn’t shaved, and his stubble is a thrilling tease against Bucky’s skin.“Nah, you just missed coffee,” Bucky says breathlessly.Bucky welcomes Clint home.





	london boy

**Author's Note:**

> Winterhawk Bingo square: Trans Clint Barton
> 
> Clint is trans masc in this story. He and Bucky have been together two years, and Clint was already on T and had top surgery before they met. Starting T causes the clitoris to grow, up to a few inches. Clint chooses to refer to this organ as his dick. Clint does not experience any dysphoria in this fic. This story is a fictional depiction of one person’s experience as a trans masc individual and is not meant to represent all experiences.
> 
> Thank you to my darlingest best Angel, who lived up to their name by reading this over for me even though they don't even go here. 
> 
> (I've never been to England and cannot speak to the quality of the coffee there.)

Bucky’s been monitoring the tracker on Clint’s phone ever since the quinjet touched down at Avengers Tower two hours ago, so he’s got the coffeemaker perfectly timed to coincide with Clint’s arrival. The last few drops are sputtering out of the ancient machine into Clint’s favorite oversized purple mug when Bucky hears the door opening.

“In the kitchen,” Bucky calls out to him, carefully placing the steaming hot mug to the side on the counter, leaving his arms open for Clint to throw himself into. He knows from experience that it’s a bad idea to have hot coffee in his hands when Clint gets home after being away for a while.

“Coming!” Clint’s voice calls, but Bucky can hear the clattering of Lucky’s nails on the hardwood as he races to the door, then a smattering of excited barks and Clint’s delighted laughter, and Bucky knows it’s going to be a minute before he gets his own hello.

But soon enough, Clint and Lucky come tumbling into the kitchen, both of them out of breath and jubilant and panting and happy, and Bucky’s heart is full to bursting at the sight of his two boys, reunited under their roof.

“Hiya,” Clint says, his eyes looking a little tired but his grin loose and wide and genuine. “Fuck, did you make coffee? I love you.”

“Kiss me first, then coffee,” Bucky says, opening his arms just in time for Clint to fall into them. Clint is so solid and warm, and Bucky can’t help but slip his hands under the hem of his hoodie, feeling the broad muscles of Clint’s back through his thin t-shirt. Lucky runs in circles around them, brushing his flank against their ankles and yipping, then flopping over onto his side when the two of them don’t pay him any attention.

“Missed you,” Clint murmurs, ducking his head to brush his lips over Bucky’s. Clint hasn’t shaved, and his stubble is a thrilling tease against Bucky’s skin.

“Nah, you just missed coffee,” Bucky says breathlessly. Clint tucks his face into Bucky’s neck and laughs, and Bucky pulls him closer, tightening his arms around Clint, his forearms awkwardly nestled under Clint’s oversized hoodie, which Bucky realizes is probably his own.

“I missed coffee,” Clint agrees, punctuating each word with a warm kiss to Bucky’s neck, “and Lucky. And you.” Clint pulls back, looks right into Bucky’s eyes. “I really missed you, babe.”

Bucky holds eye contact for as long as he can stand it, but Christ, it’s just too much sometimes.

“I know you missed coffee most,” Bucky says after a moment, and Clint smiles guiltily.

“Fuck off about it,” he says, unwinding his arms from Bucky’s neck and reaching for the mug on the countertop. “At least you and I could video-chat while I was gone. But it’s not like I could virtually drink our coffee. And the coffee in England is fucking terrible, did you know that?”

“I did know that,” Bucky says fondly as Clint slurps happily at his cup. “You complained about it every single time we talked. C’mon, sit down and tell me about your trip.”

“Not too much to tell that you don’t already know,” Clint says. “You talked to me right before the quinjet took off.” But he walks over to the dining table with Bucky, sinking into a chair with his legs sprawled. Lucky scrambles back to his feet and follows them, plopping down between Clint’s legs with his head on Clint’s thigh, demanding ear scratches that Clint is happy to give him.

“How was the flight?” Bucky asks, reaching over to pat Lucky’s neck, his fingers occasionally bumping into Clint’s as they both lavish attention on their sweet, needy dog.

“Good. Fine,” Clint says with a shrug, almost overturning his mug but managing to right it at the last moment so only a few drops slosh over the side. “Flying Avengers Air is better than flying commercial, that’s for goddamn sure. Didn’t get felt up by a single TSA agent for the first time in forever.”

“Good,” Bucky agrees. He lets his fingers bump into Clint’s on purpose this time, letting his touch linger for a moment until Clint smiles softly at him.

They’ve been together two years now, and it’s been a bit of a learning process for both of them. Clint doesn’t like being touched by people he doesn’t know, for several reasons. It’s taken a long time and a lot of trial and error, but now, Bucky knows every part of Clint’s body, knows what it feels like under his fingers and his lips and his tongue. It’s taken a lot of trust, some setbacks and some tears, but Bucky and Clint _know_ each other. It’s an honor Bucky doesn’t take for granted.

“Didn’t get felt up at all,” Clint continues softly, giving Bucky’s fingers a small squeeze. “I missed your hands on me. Mine don’t feel the same.”

“Do you need my hands on you?” Bucky asks, pitching his voice lower so it hits the register that he knows will get Clint fucked up and turned on. Clint nods helplessly, chewing on his lower lip, and Bucky just strokes his thumb along the side of Clint’s index finger and then returns to petting Lucky, waiting to see how long he can draw this out before Clint loses it.

“C’mon,” Clint says after a minute, voice so faint that it’s practically a whisper. “Bucky. I need you.”

“Lucky, go to your house,” Bucky says, and Lucky grumbles discontentedly before picking himself up with a sigh, shaking out his fur and then trotting out of the room.

“Sorry, doggo,” Clint calls weakly after him, but he doesn’t sound sorry at all. He sounds horny and desperate, and Bucky’s going to give him what he needs.

“Come here, sweetheart,” Bucky says softly, patting his own thigh. “Come sit on my lap and tell me what you need.”

It’s almost comical how quickly Clint stands up from his chair. Bucky lets his legs fall open and then waits, letting Clint decide how he wants to position himself. Clint just stands there for a moment, breathing heavily, then chooses to straddle Bucky’s leg, his own thighs warm and tight around Bucky’s, his back pressed to Bucky’s chest. He unzips his hoodie jerkily, nearly elbowing Bucky in the face as he wriggles out of it and tosses it onto the floor. But it’s worth it when Bucky touches one careful palm to Clint’s side and feels his warm skin right through his t-shirt. Clint shivers at the touch of Bucky’s fingers, his thighs clenching down tight on Bucky’s leg.

“Touch me,” Clint murmurs, letting his head fall backward onto Bucky’s shoulder. He rocks his hips slightly, just starting to ride Bucky’s thigh. “Put your hands in my pants.”

“Your English pants or your American pants?” Bucky teases him, trying to act like he’s unaffected by this. Like he’s not already getting hard just from the feel of Clint getting himself off against Bucky’s thigh, both of them still completely dressed. He leaves his left hand gently tracing Clint’s ribcage through his shirt and brings his right hand to Clint’s hip, just sculpting the shape of his generous thigh through his tight jeans.

“My..._fuck_,” Clint whines, grinding himself down. “Put...put…. Get your fucking hand inside my American pants. Feel me _through_ my...my English pants, _fuck_, just fucking touch me.”

“Okay,” Bucky says soothingly. He thumbs open Clint’s jeans, giving himself just enough room to work his hand inside, rubbing his palm in small circles over the soft mound inside Clint’s underwear. Clint mewls, rocking up into Bucky’s touch. “Feels like your dick certainly missed me.”

Clint draws in one shuddering breath, swiveling his hips to fuck into Bucky’s hand as he exhales, and Bucky remembers a time when this wasn’t so easy. When he was stumbling on his words, never sure where Clint wanted to be touched or how he wanted to be addressed, always so convinced that he was going to do it _wrong_ and fuck up and make Clint feel bad about himself. Always holding back, waiting for Clint to take the lead and tell Bucky how and where to touch him.

But that wasn’t always what Clint wanted. Sometimes, Clint wanted to be swept off his feet, adored and cherished by someone who was so hot for him that he couldn’t hold back. And that wasn’t always easy for Bucky to wrap his head around, until suddenly, it was.

“I missed your dick, too,” Bucky murmurs, kissing his words into Clint’s hairline, and Clint moans low and long, grinding his dick hard against Bucky’s fingers. Clint’s so easy for being praised, and now, Bucky’s so easy for telling Clint exactly what he loves about his gorgeous body. Bucky’s hot for every last inch of Clint, and it’s so natural to _tell him_, and they can both get off on that.

“What did you miss about it?” Clint asks breathlessly, fucking with abandon into Bucky’s hand, and Bucky loops his left arm protectively around Clint’s torso, holding him secure against his body so Clint won’t slip.

“Missed how warm you are,” Bucky says, squeezing Clint’s dick gently. “So fucking hot under my hand. You get so turned on, don’t you?”

“Yeah,” Clint whines.

“Missed feeling you get hard,” Bucky continues, his own hips twitching upwards. It’s not about him, not right now, but he’s got a really sexy man squirming in his lap, and he’s turned on, too. “Are you hard for me, sweetheart?”

“Always,” Clint promises, his voice raw and desperate. “Fuck, I’m close.”

“Missed making you come,” Bucky says, and Clint starts whimpering, the telltale tremble in his thighs letting Bucky know just how close he is. “You’re so sexy when you come for me. I want to feel your dick come under my hand.”

“Oh god,” Clint cries out, and his thighs clamp down hard on Bucky’s hand, holding it perfectly in place as he begins to come, working himself off against Bucky’s fingers until he’s spent and shaking, collapsing backwards into Bucky’s embrace.

“Fuck, that was hot,” Bucky mumbles. He still has his hand down Clint’s pants, and he leaves it there, gently stroking his fingers back and forth just to feel Clint twitching as he settles.

“Yeah?” Clint murmurs, always a little dreamy and spacey after he comes. He hitches himself higher up on Bucky’s lap, his ass sliding right over Bucky’s half-hard cock, and Clint laughs gently as Bucky moans. “Yeah,” he repeats, wiggling his ass again, “feels like you enjoyed that a little bit, babe.”

“Shut up and drink your coffee,” Bucky grits out, trying not to thrust against the warm pressure of Clint’s ass gliding over his eager dick. “I’m not getting my cock out here in the kitchen.”

“Of course not,” Clint says, reaching for his coffee cup and then sliding back into place in a way that has Bucky biting the inside of his cheek so he doesn’t cry out. “That would be uncivilized.”

“Finish your coffee,” Bucky says, trying to keep his words measured. “And then I’ll take you upstairs and take my time with you.” He gives Clint’s dick a squeeze for good measure, and Clint squeals, his thighs twitching as he tries to get away.

“You fight dirty,” Clint says breathlessly.

Bucky grins and takes his hand out of Clint’s pants, leaving his fly undone. Bucky loves the look of Clint sprawled out on his lap, pants open, his whole body wanton and loose after coming. He feels a weird kind of pride from how good he is at making Clint come, and he likes to see the evidence of that.

“Aw, coffee,” Clint says mournfully, interrupting Bucky’s quiet gloating. “It’s not warm anymore.”

“I’ll make you more?” Bucky suggests, but Clint shakes his head. “I’ll make you some later, after I take you upstairs and fuck you?”

“Yup,” Clint says happily, setting the mug back down. He shrieks as Bucky stands up quickly, hoisting Clint over his shoulder to carry him out of the room, but his protest turns easily to delighted laugher.

Bucky sets Clint back down on his feet so he can climb the ladder to their loft bedroom, and he takes a step back, enjoying the view of Clint ascending.

“Are you ogling me?” Clint asks primly.

“Always.” No sense in trying to hide it, Bucky knows how obvious he is.

“You really did miss this ass, didn’t you?” Clint calls down.

“I did,” Bucky admits. He climbs up the ladder to meet Clint, who’s waiting at the top for him. “Missed every part of you.”

“Then tell me,” Clint says, taking off his shirt, balling it up and tossing it so it hits Bucky in the head. Clint’s hair is wild and messy with static electricity, and he’s so fucking beautiful, lanky and strong, biceps for days, faded scars over his pecs barely noticeable, nestled amongst all the impressive musculature of his chest.

“I just told you,” Bucky says, licking his lips and walking closer as Clint kicks off his jeans.

“Tell me,” Clint insists, flopping backwards onto their bed and staring up at Bucky. “With your mouth. Put your mouth on every part of me that you missed and _tell me_.”

“Okay,” Bucky whispers, shrugging out of his own clothing as quick as he can and joining Clint on the mattress, running his hands along Clint’s sides to feel the heaving of his ribs as he sucks in air, kneeling over Clint and then lowering himself slowly, letting his heavy cock rest on Clint’s hip, bracketing Clint’s perfect body with his own. “Okay, sweetheart, I’ll tell you.”

**Author's Note:**

> [tumblr post](https://1000-directions.tumblr.com/post/188502906894/title-london-boy-link-ao3-square-filled-trans)


End file.
